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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29123715">What It Means To Be A Misfit</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSteve/pseuds/NotSteve'>NotSteve</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:40:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,492</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29123715</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSteve/pseuds/NotSteve</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus has a secret created by a lie. Now that lie is dead and the secret is on its way to Hogwarts. T for slight language.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>What It Means To Be A Misfit</p><hr/><p>Dead. He received the letter by owl over breakfast: "I regret"—<em>I regret</em>—"to inform you her state of mind has only gotten worse these past few months and it is expected she will die before nightfall." Malfoy thought he might like to know—how he found out, Severus hadn't a clue—but he had little interest in the matter; he preferred to forget her existence altogether. Beryl Bulstrode, ghastly woman: she joined the Death Eaters right after him—<em>for</em> him, in fact, he was told later. Her intentions were as clear as day to any seeing man, so Severus must have been blind his entire life and not realized it. She was a mad woman in her prime; he could only imagine what the Dementors created while she rotted in Azkaban all those years. Nothing pretty, and she entered looking horrid. Would he tell Dumbledore? Yes, of course he would—but nothing more.</p><p>Malfoy must have also told his son, for the entire school looked at him differently that day. He caught a group of third year Ravenclaw girls talking quietly amongst themselves on their way to the dining hall—they fell silent when he caught sight of their gossiping, and then they hurried away when he approached them. Minerva could barely look at him while Pomona kept sneaking glances at him. And his students were unusually quiet too. The misfits and troublemakers kept to themselves, hardly causing any ruckus at all. The Weasley twins in particular behaved uncharacteristically that day—obeying his every instruction, not attempting to blow up their potions for the joke of it, even referring to him as sir instead of professor, or not acknowledging him at all. It was quite nice, actually.</p><p>By dinner, everyone must have known. Sybill Trelawney was the only one brave enough to speak to him about it; he sat through a long ramble of hers throughout dinner, pretending not to hear her, as other professors and some students watched on in horror. Minerva tried to shut her up a few times, but the daft woman never caught on; "Oh, Severus, to lose a loved one so dear to one's heart," the loony woman said to him. "I can only imagine what that boy of yours is going through." The boy. <em>It was always about the bloody boy</em>. Albus's eyes briefly searched his own, and then Sybill was back to her babbling.</p><hr/><p>"You must tell the boy, Severus," said Albus. He was sitting in his chair. Phineas Nigellus's portrait hung above him, looking on as he reached for his bowl of sherbet lemons and offered one to Severus.</p><p>Severus shook his head and quickly turned away. "<em>No</em>," he said. "No—you've asked plenty from me already..."</p><p>"They may suspect something if you don't."</p><p>"And if they do?" said Severus. He turned back to the headmaster; his calm demeanor hadn't shifted, but the portrait above him was now empty. "Your plan was ridiculous from the start—it's a wonder how we've gotten this far without anyone realizing..."</p><p>Albus sighed. "If Lucius Malfoy, or anyone else, were to discover—" He stopped quickly at the sound of footsteps, and then they heard a quick knock on his door. "Come in," he said, turning his attention to the door.</p><p>Minerva entered the room with the confidence of a group of centaurs riding off to battle—or a strict transfiguration professor in need of a word with her superior—but she stopped and hesitated upon seeing Severus standing there. Again, as she had done throughout the day, she avoided looking at him. His past had odd ways of creeping up on the both of them.</p><p>"Yes, Minerva?" asked Albus calmly, bringing the attention back onto himself. Severus excused himself quietly just as Minerva announced the restoration of the girls' bathroom to its former glory, and then continued by questioning the whereabouts of that nasty troll. Severus was nearly out the door when Albus politely silenced Minerva and halted his departure. "Tell the boy, Severus," he said, and Severus slammed the door shut. <em>That bloody boy</em>.</p><hr/><p>How long had it been, he wondered, since they had seen each other last? Summer, perhaps. But he never kept track, nor did he care to do so. "Must you always mess with that thing?" The boy sat on his knees at the head of the table with Severus's enchanted red quill in his hands, attempting to tame the magical object; the more he tried to control it, the more it resisted his touch. With the wave of Severus's wand, it was out of the boy's grimy little hands and back in its holder. "It doesn't like you. Leave it alone."</p><p>He turned, his brown eyes showing no new change in emotion. "You're here."</p><p>"I am." Mrs. Cott let out a gentle snore in the rocking chair near the fire. He thought, or rather hoped, she had died and had been rotting there upon first entering the room—and to be perfectly honest, what a pity it was to learn that was not the case. Large wooden knitting needles moved mechanically in front of her, working tirelessly on a grey and green sweater.</p><p>He waved his wand again and the needles fell onto the old woman's lap. The old woman jolted awake with a loud snort. She remained still for a long moment, blinking her eyes and tasting her lips to adjust to her new wakeful state, until she caught sight of Severus and sprung out of her chair, letting the needles and unfinished sweater fall to her feet. "Severus, you're—well, I wasn't expecting you so soon."</p><p>"You're paid to watch him while I'm away, Mrs. Cott," he reminded her stiffly, "not lounge around like you're on holiday."</p><p>Her eyes searched the room, and then outside where it was dark. "Is it the holiday season already? So soon?"</p><p>"Leave us now," he commanded, again facing the boy. "I need a word with the boy alone." Her quiet footsteps hurried off through the kitchen door.</p><p>"What's happened?" the boy said. His hair was dark auburn, nearly brown—not like it was a few years ago. "Did Dumbledore die?" And those eyes, ordinary and brown, were far from exceptional. He had a mole below his left eye, just above his cheek. He looked and acted simply ordinary, like no one he had ever seen before.</p><p>"What makes you think that?"</p><p>He shrugged. "I dunno." His words were also never snarky, never trying to resist Severus's authority. But he was annoying with his questions, and he was hardly ever satisfied with the answers given to him. "You don't usually come back so soon, unless there's an emergency."</p><p>"<em>Dumbledore</em> did not die," he said. It seemed he always spoke in riddles with him—never quite finding the nerve to lie, just alter the truth.</p><p>"But someone did?" And he always seemed to catch on. "Who was it, then?"</p><p>Severus huffed. "The woman you call mother," he said, hoping he would understand.</p><p>"Oh," said the boy. He adjusted himself on the chair, sitting properly with his feet under the table. There was parchment in front of him and on it was scribbled a drawing—Severus couldn't make out what it was; it looked something like a figure. In the kitchen, Mrs. Cott could be heard moving pots and pans around, or something of that sort.</p><p>"<em>Accio</em>, pen," muttered Severus, summoning a normal, non-magical pen. "Here," he said, tossing it onto the table. "Finish your silly drawing. And don't even think about using my quill again." He turned to leave, apparate the hell out of there—back to Hogsmeade, back to Hogwarts.</p><p>"Was she also a Slytherin," he asked suddenly, and he turned back to him. "Beryl Bulstrode?" The woman he called mother.</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Do you think I'll be a Slytherin?"</p><p>"I doubt it," Severus said to him, and he apparated away.</p><p>A week later, he received a letter from the Ministry, asking about funeral arrangements—as if he owned the damn corpse. "The boy ought to see her be buried," Albus's voice rang in his ears. "It might give him closure." Severus hoped to burn the body; in front of the current Minister and all his minions, even. They all believed the boy was born in Azkaban—that was why he was so small and weak and fragile, they said; the Dementors drained both mother and son's soul for several months before it was discovered she was with child. Dumbledore and Bagnold knew the truth, of course—but they would take that truth to their graves.</p><p>Again, upon Albus's request, he visited the boy and prepared him for the woman he called mother's funeral. Severus, the boy, Mrs. Cott, and Dolores Umbridge, who worked close to the Minister were the only people in attendance at her funeral. She had other family—distant cousins, aunts and uncles—but none Severus was close to, and they never wrote asking to attend. When they arrived at the gravesite, the boy ran off to search the graveyard, leaving Severus alone with Mrs. Cott and Umbridge—the two most unpleasant women in the wizarding world. The boy returned before the closed—<em>thankfully</em>—casket made its descent with a handful of wild flowers, all uniquely styled, and placed them on top of the casket. Umbridge did not stay long; she offered her deepest condolences with a phony, sympathetic smile, briefly touched the boy's shoulder, which he shrugged away, and then left. Severus apparated soon after.</p><hr/><p>Winter came and it went. And by the end of the year, everyone seemed to put the Beryl Bulstrode business behind them, for other events surrounding the school distracted them. Students started behaving like themselves around him again, Minerva was no longer hesitant to speak with him, Sybill no longer tried talking to him during dinner; all seemed well, given the circumstance. And then it was summer, and the boy could not keep his mouth shut about Hogwarts, no matter how many times Severus told him to shut up. He wore the green and grey sweater vest Mrs. Cott knitted for him nearly every day; perhaps expecting to be sorted into Slytherin. Severus, of course, knew better. When his letter arrived one expected morning over breakfast, he made Mrs. Cott take him to get his supplies the next afternoon. Severus stayed behind to read a book. He arrived back with new robes, a wand, and a grey furry fat cat he named Gravy—a parting gift from Mrs. Cott, much to Severus's dismay. His books had yet to come in, however, so with great reluctance, before the start of the new school year, Severus took the boy back to Diagon Alley.</p><p>It was there he saw him, standing with the Weasleys, looking as filthy as a Weasley, and the Granger girl, along with her muggle parents. Gilderoy Lockhart was there as well, looking more doll than man—Severus felt his blood boil; why Albus chose him of all people, he would never understand. He could feel them all staring, but he refused to acknowledge any of them. "I thought he only came out of his coffin during the school year," he overheard one of the Weasley twins whisper to the other; Severus chose to ignore their snickering, but made a mental note to assign them both detention their first day back.</p><p>While he waited for the boy to retrieve his books, Severus found himself tangled in a brief conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Granger as Hermione Granger looked on with a mixture of embarrassment and concern on her face. Potter and Weasley observed the conversation as well, but their eyes were daggers; he decided to assign two more detentions at the start of the school year. Finally, Mr. Weasley guided the muggles elsewhere. Lucius Malfoy and his son arrived shortly after, looking on at the group with as much hate as Severus, but the boy had returned with his books before anything could develop beyond a courteous hello. But Severus noticed Draco give the boy a nod and a gentle smile as they passed him to leave the shop.</p><p>He wish he could say the start of the new school year was as smooth as the last, or the one before that, but the famous Harry Potter could not allow that to happen. He was proving to be more and more like his father each year, unfortunately. He was told he and Weasley didn't even board the train at platform nine-and-three-quarters—choosing to arrive by car instead—and at the start of the feast, before the first years were even sorted, he received word from Filch about Potter and Weasley's fashionable entrance, diving into the whomping willow head first in a blue Ford Anglia, a car belonging to Weasley's own father. The Evening Profit arrived soon after, and it was worse than Severus could have imagined. They both should have been expelled for their foolish behavior, and any normal boy would, but the Boy Who Lived always did have special privileges at Hogwarts, and everywhere else too—if Lockhart's story over staff breakfast had any merit. And if Albus was indeed correct about... <em>his return</em>, perhaps it was better Potter remained at Hogwarts, under his watchful eye.</p><p>A migraine blossomed while shouting at the pair and, by the time Minerva and Albus arrived, he was fuming. He stormed out with Albus following close behind, leaving Minerva to tend to their needs—they had missed the feast; if it were him, he might just let them starve, but Minerva conjured up some sandwiches the house elves made earlier that evening.</p><hr/><p>"The boy's sorting has surprised us all," said Albus, sounding slightly amused. They were walking the halls now; Severus had calmed some, but his blood still boiled. On their journey, they encountered a group of Slytherin first years being guided to their house's common room—coming at no surprise, the boy was not among them.</p><p>"Why? We knew he would be sorted into Gryffindor," said Severus casually as he nodded to the first year students. Albus gave them a gentle wave.</p><p>"He wasn't sorted into Gryffindor, Severus," said Albus—and Severus stopped, letting the first years pass.</p><p>He waited until they turned the corner before he asked, "Where exactly did the sorting hat put him?"</p><p>Severus had just always assumed he would be sorted into Gryffindor—with Potter and... the rest of them. He never really saw the boy as anything else; he never really cared to think of him as anything but a Gryffindor. "Florus Snape, <em>son</em>"—Severus flinched at the word while Albus remained unfazed—"of Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House, was sorted into Hufflepuff this evening," said Albus. And he chuckled softly to himself. "I wish you were there to witness Pomona's reaction. She nearly flew out of her chair."</p><p>Somehow the man's words made him feel better, slightly less angry. Severus said his farewells to Dumbledore, and then quickly turned his heel and headed in the same direction as the Slytherin first years. He wasn't relieved, no. He never lingered on what house the boy might get into; he didn't know him well enough to do so, but he assumed it would be Gryffindor. Why should he care what house the boy was sorted in? Gryffindor, Hufflepuff... he was still—he still wasn't... It made no difference at all.</p><p>"You can't stay out here," said Draco Malfoy's voice clearly as he drew close to the Slytherin common room. "You have to go back to your own common room."</p><p>Severus turned another corner just as he heard Vincent Crabbe say, "Maybe the sorting hat was wrong."</p><p>"Not likely," said Pansy Parkinson.</p><p>"Look. It's not like Hufflepuff is a <em>bad</em> house—well, it's not good, but at least you're not in Gryffindor," continued Malfoy, "with <em>Potter</em>... and the Weasleys."</p><p>Malfoy and his gang stood outside the portrait of the serpent. "What's going on here? Why are you in the halls passed hour?" he said, and then he saw him, dressed in his Hufflepuff robes, eyes red and puffy from crying—he rarely witnessed the boy cry; he sniffed as Severus approached him. "Ten points from Hufflepuff—get back to your common room. <em>Now</em>."</p><p>"He's upset he's not in Slytherin," explained Draco. Severus glared at him, which made his eyes go wide in shock and he quickly added, "Sir."</p><p>"I'm sorry, sir," the boy cried out as he rubbed his watery eyes.</p><p>Severus felt a slight pain in his gut as he grabbed the boy by his wrist and pulled him away from the group. "That doesn't excuse your behavior." The pain in his gut only grew stronger as he stared into those unfamiliar glossy brown eyes, and he found himself loosening his grip on him. "Would you quit your incessant whining. Your mother wouldn't care which house you were sorted in. Slytherin, Hufflepuff, you could be in Ravenclaw and it still wouldn't matter to her."</p><p>The boy stopped crying. Looking up at Severus, he sniffed. "Really?"</p><p>And Severus realized his mistake immediately; he let go of the boy's wrist. "Yes," he said, reverting back to his sternness. "Now go. Before I take another ten points from Hufflepuff."</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I found this in my drafts. Decided to post it as is, because I doubt I'll ever finish it, with a quick conclusion.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Severus was just finishing his morning rounds around the school when he spotted them outside the staffroom. "I'm sorry, Mr. Snape. Those are the rules—there is nothing I can do," Minerva said to the cowardly boy. He slowed his pace to listen in. "You need special accomadations that I simply cannot give you elsewhere. It's for your benefit as much as it is my own. I cannot very well focus on your needs in a room full of other students now can I?" He opened his mouth to protest, but Minerva quickly silenced him. And Severus drew closer, his footsteps making his presence known to Minerva—but the boy had yet to notice him. "The matter is out of my hands, Mr. Snape," she continued. "Any more inquiries you may have on this matter, I suggest you direct to the Department of Wizards and Witches with Disabilities at the Ministry..." Again, she glanced at Severus, and this time the boy's eyes followed. Brown eyes locked with his own ordinary black ones. "...or your father, perhaps."</p><p>But the boy turned swiftly in the other direction and stomped away, muttering about how unfair it all was. Minerva huffed, watching the boy storm away. When she was sure he was gone, she looked at Severus and said, "You didn't explain all this to him over summer break, Severus?"</p><p>"I'm sure I mentioned it," he lied—but the boy must have realized at some point in his life, or Mrs. Cott must have told him. His books had to be specially ordered; hadn't he noticed that? "He's whining because he didn't get his way. I assure you, Minerva—he'll get over it."</p><p>Minerva looked unsatisfied with his answer, but made no effort to argue. Father knew best, as they said—except he really didn't know the boy at all. She opened the door to the staffroom. "There's still coffee left, if you care for some, Severus," she offered.</p><p>He shook his head, uninterested. "I'll be away for an hour or two," he told her simply. "Should anyone need anything from me, tell them to wait."</p><hr/><p>Her name was Carissa Everly. She worked as a seamstress at Gladrags Wizardwear in Hogsmeade. She also had quite the talent with charms and transfiguration. She was sorted into Ravenclaw his fifth year at Hogwarts—they never really spoke at school; they never really spoke now. He became familiar with her a few years after he started teaching at Hogwarts. She asked him out for coffee. He said no and she continued pestering him until he finally relented—but they never did have that cup of coffee.</p><p>It was always in the morning, in her room atop the shop before she opened, and he would sneak away before anyone noticed. If it were a day students were expected, he would come an hour earlier to prevent any awkward encounters; once, he bumped into Sybill, who needed something mended by her, but he walked passed her without any sort of acknowledgement.</p><p>He always felt filthy afterwards, ashamed of his lack of self control. She could never quite get the eyes right, and her voice always sounded like her own. But she was no victim. He fulfilled her fantasies too—they used each other. To her, he wasn't Severus Snape; he was her Professor, her superior disciplining her for her bad behavior.</p><p>He saw her reflection in the mirror, watching him as he messed with the buttons on his tunic. She had reverted back to her own face: pale skin, blue eyes, short black hair, thin eyebrows; she was ordinary, just ordinary. Without saying anything, she stood from the unmade bed and made her way towards him, her small breasts bouncing slightly with each stride. And he watched as she lifted a hand to touch him.</p><p>"Don't," he commanded, his attention turning to the buttons on his cuffs. She took no offense, and instead reached the black chiffon dressing gown hanging beside him.</p><p>"Your boy's sorted into Hufflepuff, I hear," she said softly, donning her gown that covered nothing. He said nothing, so she continued: "You're the talk of the town, you are—you, and Harry Potter's little incident, of course." Right, the Boy Who Lived, nearly dying in the whomping willow tree with Weasley. They were still looking for the car; a group of fourth years claim to have seen it emerge from the forest Friday. "But I think your news is more interesting. A pure-blood wizard from a family of Slytherins has a child sorted into Hufflepuff..."</p><p>"<em>Half-blood</em>," he corrected, thinking of his muggle father—may Hell, or whomever, spend eternity torturing his hellish soul.</p><p>But she continued her insecent rambling, not hearing him. Her mouth was the worse thing about her. "...don't think anything like that has happened since... well, since <em>Sirius Black</em>—"</p><p>He cringed at that traitor’s name—he longed for his death, wishing it could be by his own wand. “I come here to fuck you, Carissa,” he told her bluntly, “not to listen to you ramble about things that don’t matter.”</p><p>Clearly what she said did matter to him, and he knew she noticed how tense the mentioning of Sirius's name made him. To his surprise, she let it go and crossed to the other side of the room, into her small kitchen where a magical pot was brewing. "I've got coffee."</p><p>"No," he said.</p><p>"Or tea?"</p><p>They never discussed it, but he knew he wasn't her only caller—or whatever their arrangement was. Occasionally, he would see robes too large for her figure draped on her sofa or hanging with her dressing gown—sometimes she would wear it instead. Other times, there would be a blouse he knew she would never wear among the pile of clothes on her floor. He didn't care.</p><p>"No."</p><hr/><p>On Albus's orders, he was helping Gilderoy Lockhart, the foolish man, prepare his lessons for the following week. The self-centered egotistical maniac centered all his classes around himself, and his achievements. Severus didn't believe a word of his stories. He remembered the boy turned man from school, who as a first year, was talentless but charming. At least he wasn't another Death Eater.</p><p>His lessons consisted consisted of quizzes about himself, and only about himself. But there were some D.A.D.A related acivities amongst his narcism; he suggested an exposure to Cornish Dixies for his Second Year students, claiming to know all about them—Potter's own suffering the foolish man's antics made it all tolerable in somehow. Lockhart even suggested a friendly duel between them later on in the term, and Severus agreed to it almost instantly. How could he deny such a golden opportunity to see the man fall on his ass?</p><p>When Severus moved on to the older students, who would be taking their O. and N.E. , Gilderoy tensed and rose from his chair. He quickly found a bottle of wine with his face on it. "Care for some wine, Severus?" he asked, pouring himself a glass in a large golden goblet.</p><p>"No," said the potions master, remaining sullen. He didn't drink.</p><p>"Are you sure? It's the best in the—"</p><p>"Yes," said Severus. His father did, though. His liver must have been the first thing to catch on fire in Hell, and then the rest of him—at least, he hoped that was the case; he hoped he was screaming in agony, begging for help and never receiving it.</p><p>And then the man began rambling about offering a group of vampires his wine, and them loving it so much they nearly killed themselves drinking only that. But the heroic Lockhart, of course, saved them from their demise.</p><p>Severus stood, gathering his books he let Lockhart see but not borrow. "Your knowledge of the Dark Arts surpasses my own," Severus said to him, lying through his teeth. But he couldn't stand one more second of the idiot. "It seems you don't need my assistance at all."</p><p>Lockhart stood stoic still for a moment, and then he blinked. "Ah, yes, well..." But Severus was out the door before the man could utter another lie. "Sleep well, Severus," Lockhart called out to him as he stepped into the hall. "And don't fret much about our duel. I'll go easy on you."</p><p>Right. Their duel. He might take go easy, but Severus certainly won't.</p><hr/><p>The Cornish Dixies were a hit. Minerva gave Lockhart an earful in the staffroom before breakfast one morning. His face went as white as winter snow. Lockhart, the git, smiled after she had left, muttering some excuse about how he had known what to do all along and how he was simply testing the children.</p><p>"There's spiders in the castle," said the boy in a cautious tone.</p><p>"And rats," said Severus mechanically, not taking his eyes off the parchment in front of him. He started grading the first years' homework when the boy barged in, uninvited; Severus told him to leave, but the boy never listened. "And probably snakes—leave them alone and they won't bother you."</p><p>For a long moment, it was silent. Severus thought the boy had finished, the words inside him had, finally, drained away. "I don't like being unordinary," he told Severus softly. He hoped to be a Slytherin, he hoped to be like all the other boys and girls at Hogwarts. But that could never happen—from birth he was destined to be something different. What that was exactly, only Dumbledore knew. Maybe nothing at all. But Severus would keep his promise, no matter how torturous. He would keep them safe, if it meant giving his own life in return.</p>
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